


11

by orphan_account



Series: Lullabye [24]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, lullabye, u know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sat with his legs crossed in the middle of the carpet was a kid. But not a little one, he was a bundle of freckles and bony elbows and a knit hat pulled down low over his face. Pete involuntarily clutched onto the doorknob for temporary support: being around Patrick for this long meant he was quick to adjust to weird things happening, but there was still a momentary shock.(Lullabye. Patrick is 11 this time.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> real quick unedited cause i'm tried as hell but i've been not so active on here lately so i wrote this in one sitting and wanted it posted before i go to sleep. Unedited and may add another chapter sometime. Check out my blog if you miss me, - lot of fun au stuff going down

 

Pete walked into the playroom when he heard Patrick in there, pulling his face and brain into the right place to look after a bouncy toddler. When he pushed the door open, however, that wasn't what he saw.

  
Sat with his legs crossed in the middle of the carpet was a kid. But not a little one, he was a bundle of freckles and bony elbows and a knit hat pulled down low over his face. Pete involuntarily clutched onto the doorknob for temporary support: being around Patrick for this long meant he was quick to adjust to weird things happening, but there was still a momentary shock.

  
“Patrick?” he asked, just in case this was a cousin he'd never met and Patrick had just gone to the store.  
The kid looked up, his chin sharp as it jerked up, his familiar plump lips set in those adorable half-shed puppy fat cheeks that Pete had only seen in photos. His face twisted into an expression halfway between sullen and doubting. He was just on the cusp of teenagerhood and everything about him seemed to be unsure of which side to fall on.

  
“Yeah?” he said slowly. Pete felt his knees buckle. Oh god, he was so cute, this tiny shy little preteen sitting on the carpet. A three-quarter size Patrick. All Pete could think of was that he really wanted to buy him some ice cream. He remembered how at this age, Patrick's dad wasn't around, and his mom worked supporting the family. He definitely deserved some fun.

  
Pete swallowed, still feeling slightly at a loss with this nebulous new Patrick, halfway between two that he knew how to handle, but with something else too.  
“You're different today,” he said, obviously.

  
Patrick shrugged, his shoulders seeming like they weren't made to fit on his body.  
“I'm eleven,” he said, and at least that was something.

  
Pete sat down so he could be even with Patrick. Habitually drawn to drape himself in as much Patrick as he could get his hands on, he shoved himself against Patrick's side and squeezed his hand. Instead of making a grumpy remark - like he was big - or a chirpy, affectionate one - like he was small - he just stayed very still. Pete watched with interest as his jaw clenched, and a flush of red crawled across his cheeks. In Pete’s his hand tightened so hard it started to shake.

  
“You okay there, Rickster?” Pete giggled, watching Patrick experience the small fit he appeared to be having.

  
“I'm-” Patrick's voice squeaked awkwardly and he blushed darker, coughed, and tried again with a scowl. “I'm fine.”

  
Pete stood up, pulling Patrick with him. “You can't sulk in the playroom all day, grumpy guts,” he pointed out, poking Patrick in the ribs. “What do you want to do? We could eat ice cream? Middleschoolers love ice cream, right?”

  
Patrick gave Pete a truly withering look. “It's ten am,” he said coldly. Pete noticed that, despite his temper, he had yet to let go of Pete's hand. Pete lifted him into the air out of habit, fully prepared to force feed Patrick ice-cream until he experienced true bliss, but Patrick started to writhe really quite furiously. Normally Pete was well versed at handling this, but Patrick was a lot bigger and stronger than normal. 

He was the brightest shade of red Pete had ever seen on a person, his eyes round and his jaw tight.  
“I'm not a baby,” he growled, folding his arms, “I'm nearly a teenager!”  
And oh yeah, Pete remembered that phase from his own adolescence. It was going to be a long day. Not that long, though, because a Patrick is a Patrick and they are all awesome.

  
***

  
They were watching TV. Patrick kept shooting Pete these tentative little glances out of the corner of his eye, shuffling closer when he thought Pete wasn't looking. It reminded Pete a little of when his kid sister's friend had that crush on him.

  
Patrick took offence a lot. Pete turned on the cartoons that he always watched, regardless of which Patrick he was with. Patrick folded his arms and reiterated that he was not a baby. Before Pete had a chance to explain, he'd switched to a horror movie that made Pete feel slightly queasy. After the second murder, a white-faced Patrick let himself be yanked onto Pete's lap like a pillow to clutch, and rested his head on Pete's collarbone.

  
They both knew that he was only watching the movie to prove to Pete how mature he was. He didn't open his eyes more than once every five minutes, determinedly ignoring the fact that he was trembling in Pete's lap. After another few minutes, Pete got up and switched the TV off.

  
“I hate horror movies,” he groaned - genuinely - to give Patrick an out without any dents to his honour. “I was going to make pasta for dinner. We're going to have to order out, because I'm going to be making the connection between blood soaked intestines and meatballs for a while now.”

  
He lifted Patrick off the couch and scrubbed his geeky eleven year old haircut fondly.  
“You don't have to act cool to impress me you know,” he said, out of the corner of his mouth. Patrick stiffened. “Yeah, not subtle. Just so you remember, I'm dating you already. I've heard you farting all night after that Indian-” and wow, that comment was so worth the light show of colours across Patrick's face and the dirt my glare. “Yeah. I've seen all the worst parts of you, you don't have to play cool.”

  
Just to see his face, Pete bent his knees and kissed Patrick cheek. The squeak he made, and his expression, were worth a million dollars.  
“You're such a cutie,” Pete cooed, deliberately riling the particularly temperamental version of Patrick up. “Somebody's got a little cru-ush!” he singsonged.

  
Folding his arms, Patrick lifted his gaze through his eyelashes and mumbled shyly, “Duh.” He seemed to immediately regret it and shrink back, so Pete slipped his arm reassuringly around his shoulders.

  
“The sweetest little thing, no matter how tall you are, my Rick. That temper, though, I don't envy your mom.”

  
Pete got what he deserved, a swift smack on the arm which only proved his point. Patrick fell quiet suddenly, fiddling with the zip on his jacket. Pete knocked their shoulders together and made a caring face.  
“What's going on in that brain?” he asked carefully.

  
Patrick stood still, then shrugged. His Chicago accent was even stronger, if that was possible. “I dunno, just…” those cheeks were going to burst if they got any redder, “Um. You're like. Really...cool. Like, awesome. And I'm a short geeky kid who plays the drums, it's”, he bit his lip and Pete could see a phrase like ‘why do you like me’ floating around behind his teeth.

  
“Oh, Trick, dearest, that was one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard, even from your self-deprecating mouth. You're my Ricky! You have a little genius brain boiling away in there, and when you laugh really hard and make that ‘hehehe’ noise the world stops spinning. You're very grumpy and small right now-” another glare from Patrick, he was good at those, “-So you can't see it. But there's a lot to look at. I put up with you as my boyfriend even though you make me watch a movie about a man-eating wasp. I love my Stump, or my S-T-U-M-P-H, I guess you still are.”

  
***

  
Patrick was drowning in one of his own giant shirts when Pete caught him hovering awkwardly by the door to their bedroom.  
“What are you doing?” Pete asked, after he almost broke Patrick's nose with the door.

  
Patrick went pink and his button nose wrinkled up impressively. “I… uh… I didn't know where I should sleep,” he said lamely, fixing his big eyes, behind his too-big glasses on Pete.

  
“How about in the bed?” Pete suggested after a pause where he realised Patrick was actually serious. “There's a wild idea for you, sleeping in your bed.  And Pumpkin is on the dresser, don't sleep without him just to prove you're a badass or whatever; we've been through that. I'm not putting up with all the squirming when you don't have him.” He picked up Patrick and the stuffy in one movement, dumping them both into the bed and getting in beside them.

  
Before flicking the light off, he kissed the back of Patrick's head.  
“Goodnight, small angel.”

  
“Goodnight, fairly short asshole,” Patrick bit back, and Pete didn't know if Patrick was young enough to need bitching out for his language or not.


End file.
